


The Dinner Belle

by marchionessofblackadder



Category: Hannibal (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:45:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the quiet town of Storybrooke, Maine, Mr. and Mrs. Gold gain a new neighbor who invites them to dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cordially Invited

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy it!

The invitation appeared one rainy afternoon without overture.

Mr. Gold, having brought in the mail from the black box of his front porch, sat down at the mahogany dining table spread for tea, and he accepted the silently offered clean butter knife from his wife to slip beneath the red wax seal on the back. With the warm fire popping merrily behind them, the antique dealer raised his eyebrows as he read the carefully scripted note.

Belle, his pretty young wife and the clever Storybrooke librarian, watched his face as she poured two delicate white teacups full with rich, lavender and rose tea, blacker than coffee and perfuming the air. Her delicate berry painted lips quirked in a smile, and she pressed her foot to his weak ankle, stockinged toes just barely teasing his pant leg. He jumped-the desired reaction-and his eyes flew up to her own. She smiled wider.

“Are you going to share it with me?” she asked, nodding to the letter and setting the willow patterned porcelain teapot back near the center of their spread. Her toast was topped with cream and blackberries, but the ruby red wax seal was winking at her, and her curiosity was alight from the concentration with which her husband had read the paper inside.

He smiled bemusedly, passing it over the tea things and reaching for the milk to add a drop to both their cups. “I think you will find it most interesting, as it answers a question we’ve had for some time.”

Reading it, her delicate hand went to her mouth, touching the bright smile that lit her face as her starry blue eyes read and reread the words. Finally, she set it in her lap and beamed, saying, “I knew someone had bought the house next door. How intriguing,” she said, raising the letter back up to glance at the words. “A doctor.”

“I suppose Dr. Hopper was lucky to find someone to take his place before his departure,” Mr. Gold said quietly, dropping sugar cubes into their cups. There was still steam swirling from the surface of the now creamy drinks. “Quite lucky, that.”

“Look at his penmanship. I haven’t seen anything like it aside from your own,” his wife said with no small amount of tease in her voice, brushing her foot against his ankle again. She winked at him over the top of the page, and, absurdly, he felt a rush of heat warm his face and neck. “Well,” she went on, folding the invitation up carefully and sliding it back into the envelope. She set it aside so it wouldn’t dirty before she drew her cup between her hands, smiling in pleasure. “We should accept.”

Mr. Gold glanced beyond his wife’s shoulder out the window at her back at the house several meters off, a grey stone mansion half hidden by pine trees and sheeting rain. Snowdrop Drive had only ever had five houses, and they were made up of small estates with land rich properties. Since Mr. Gold had purchased his own near the end of the lane, they had only ever neighbored with one another home that had remained empty for their entire residency. That was, until two days ago when packages, crates, and a moving truck had appeared with imported goods for which the Golds had happily (with no little amount of curiosity) signed for.

They had a new neighbor.

And they weren’t the only ones to notice. The next day, after Mr. Gold had held their umbrella while walking his wife to work at the antiquated library, he crossed paths with the broke and drunken journalist Sidney Glass, who stopped him in the middle of the slick sidewalk with drizzle rolling off the ends of their umbrellas to enquire about the new neighbor.

“Has our good Madame Mayor already set her dog to sniffing?” Mr. Gold asked in reply, not deeming to tame the sting and hiss of his voice. It was no secret to the people of Storybrooke that their mayor strong-armed her way into their lives when there was gain to be had in her favor. Oh, and she stood to gain _quite_ a bit from anything that could inconvenience or threaten the Golds.

Mr. Glass had a waxy smile, something that rather annoyed Mr. Gold, and he flexed his hands around the handle of his own grey umbrella, tilting his head. “I heard he’s a foreigner,” he commented.

“Perhaps you should ask him,” Mr. Gold muttered, using the leeway of his cane and his crippled ankle to get the journalist out of his way. By the time he got into his shop, warming with the few golden lights, he was slightly chagrined to have encouraged the newspaper man to bother his new neighbor. It seemed, though, that Dr. Hannibal Lecter was by all accounts welcoming to his new town, since he had been amiable enough to send them an invitation to dinner.

Of course, the Golds were not in the same caliber as Sidney Glass, either.

It was not to say the Golds didn’t share similar curiosities of the newest denizen of their little town. That night, as he and his wife were readying themselves for bed, the subject was over the letter again.

Divested of her blouse, Belle was a vision of demure navy garters and black stockings beneath her pretty grey wool skirt. She unrolled the silk coverings from above her knees, saying over her shoulder, “It’s all anyone can seem to talk about, as if Dr. Hopper had never been here to begin with.”

Mr. Gold spit into the sink, rinsing his mouth of the minty foam and tucking his toothbrush back into the cup near the faucet. “You have to admit, we don’t have many people moving to Storybrooke. Especially someone who receives wine from Florence and-what was it?” He walked to the door of the bathroom, his eyes roaming his wife’s pale back as she folded up her stockings before unzipping her skirt. “Beer barrels from France?”

“I think a little taste is what our town needs,” Belle said with a smile, an innocent flash of lashes with deep blue eyes that had him feeling heated from the inside out. Her skirt slipped down her legs, and her French pedicured feet stepped out of the pool of fabric. Mr. Gold watched as she turned to sit primly on the overstuffed rose couch at the foot of their bed. That would have been enough to have him padding across the thick Persian rug and kneeling carefully in front of her, but the absence of silk and lace, of _anything_ beneath that fine grey wool had decided him.

Belle tilted her head, a fond, affectionate smile he did not feel worthy of playing on her lips as she touched his hair. “Nothing exciting ever happens here,” she sighed, eyes closing as his lips kissed over pretty pale skin, her belly and hip, his weathered hands on her knees. “I have always wanted to go to Europe,” she mumbled, smiling and leaning back against the foot of their bed. “Perhaps he could give us advice, and we could finally go.”

Her husband was not paying attention by then, and he was mildly disappointed that she still was. A few more well placed kisses took care of that, though. “Whatever you wish, sweetheart,” he murmured with a smile, and enjoyed a quiet and joyful excitement of their own.

On Thursday, a car appeared in the winding driveway of the grey stone house. It was black, waxed and polished and sitting inoffensively as if it had always been there. The custom designed Bentley did not appear to have a driver, and there was certainly no one within the house.

Belle leaned her chin on her husband’s arm as they paused at the stop sign at the end of their street, her smile bright as they peeked out the driver’s side window. “He’ll be here soon. The invitation is for Saturday evening.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Gold hummed, turning his face enough to steal a kiss from his wife’s rosy lips. She smiled into it, and he bopped her nose with a gentle finger before resuming their drive. “What should we do to welcome him?”

Belle sat back in her seat with a thoughtful look, and she turned to look out the window. His wife was a bright, brilliant, curious little creature that sparkled with cleverness and wit, and Mr. Gold, old cripple that he was, couldn’t help but be completely, wholesomely in love with her. When she retreated into a quiet, soft recollection, her eyes turned like stars, the blue fading just a shade as if she pulled it within herself. He waited patiently until the inevitable dimpled smile curved on her face once more, and she turned away from the rainy landscape to lay her hand on his thigh, saying, “Why not select something from the shop’s collection? A thoughtful gift that is as much our own history as the town’s. I’m sure he would appreciate it.”

“Charming,” Mr. Gold said with a nod, smirking as she squeezed above his knee. He pulled up to the curb on Main street with more control than he felt he actually possessed. Her touch always left him weak and shivering. His voice was thin when he asked, “Anything in mind?”

“I’ll leave the details of it up to you and buy the wine,” Belle murmured with a saucy grin, leaning over for one more kiss before gathering her purse and climbing out of the Cadillac to usher herself inside the safety of her dusty library. He watched her until she was inside before driving the rest of the way down the street.

That night, he spent his time cleaning and polishing the selected gift before wrapping it carefully, and Belle beamed and leaned her chin over his shoulder as he worked, murmuring, “That’s what I would have picked, too.”

Friday morning when they left for work, their neighbor’s house still appeared dark and unlived in, but that was all the thought either of them gave it. Life in Storybrooke was, perhaps, a bit repetitive and traditional in the way of work and school, family and friends, so it was easy to get lost in the routine. There was not often an opportunity to be brave, a challenge or a mystery to accept. It was a garden content with its minor weeds and snug bed, the few worms and birds visiting but never disturbing the occupants.

Friday night, as Belle and her husband fell into bed after sharing cups of mulled wine to ward off the bitter November rain, kissing and mumbling in the dark, happy and warm, neither noticed the neighboring grey stone house’s lights begin to flicker to life, slowly, one by one.


	2. Apéritif

Living a quiet life among dusty relics and antiques had afforded Mr. Gold the habitual tendencies that came with reclusiveness and introversion. Meeting and marrying his wife had not altogether changed that, because Belle cherished quiet and peaceful hobbies just as he did. It was not unlike them to retreat into their fine home, with Belle and her books and Mr. Gold with his sewing.

However, his little love had a kinder and more adventurous streak than he when it came to people; she was certainly a great deal more personable, offering help and goodwill wherever she tottered about in her heels. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her, in the beginning, and captured him completely for the rest of his life.

When that adventurous spirit drew them away from their sleepy, lazy time abed that rainy Saturday, though, he was not a little begrudging, laying against the headboard and watching her perform menial tasks in the bathroom-brushing her teeth, applying makeup, spraying perfume-wondering how a single person could be so lovely and love him at the same time.

“Aren’t you just the least bit excited?” Belle asked, walking back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel with her head tilted. “You said yourself we don’t often get to meet new people.”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Gold sighed, pursing his lips. “I suppose.”

Her lips quirked, and Belle padded over to his side of the bed nearest the door (to protect her, should anyone break in, for he kept his gun in the sideboard beside his head), sitting at the edge and poking him in the side. “Don’t sulk, Mr. Gold.”

“I am doing no such thing.” When she poked his side again, he wriggled back, scowling at her traitorous hand and sniffing, “I simply don’t want to go outside. It’s wet. We’ll catch cold.”

Belle rolled her eyes and stood up, walking off into their closet. Heaving a sigh, he followed suit and clambered out of bed to dress. By the time he was selecting a tie, Belle had shimmied into underthings, stockings, and a dark navy dress that was made of lace as thin as spider webs. Catching his eye, she smirked at him through the full length mirror and asked, “Zip it up for me?”

Mr. Gold smiled and walked up behind her, dragging his fingers up from the runched fabric that made her waist look even tinier, and took the small zipper up to the middle of her back. When he was done, he placed a kiss on the back of her neck and squeezed her shoulders. “Beautiful.”

Ducking her head, his wife blushed and bit her lush lower lip, murmuring, “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to cancel?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper and his arms slipping around her waist. It was impossible not to bury his face into the side of her neck; she smelled like a bouquet, sweet and tempting. He held her close, breathing her in and shivered when she leaned back into him. “It’s not too late.”

“That would be rude,” Belle sighed, reaching up and touching his hair where it fell against the side of his face. She smiled, biting her lip again and leaning up to brush her nose to his. She had to raise up on the tips of her stockinged toes between his own blue socked feet to accomplish it, but he smiled at the attempt and touched his nose back to hers.

“As you say,” Mr. Gold said with a sigh back, unthreading his arms from her warm figure and stepping away. If he didn’t, he would never let go, and they wouldn’t be having dinner at all.

A few moments later saw Mr. Gold fastening his cufflinks and Belle slipping on her sleek black heels. The walk was brief, but it would be a slow one considering one of them had a cane for a crippled leg, so they both saw to buttoning their coats and taking their time. Belle smiled as her husband tucked his blue scarf about his neck, an anniversary gift she had knitted him, and handed him his cane once he was done, shuffling the plain red gift bag with the present to her elbow. Arm in arm, they stepped out of their warm home and out into the November chill, instantly huddling closer against the dreary evening.

When she spoke, Belle’s breath turned smokey in the cold air. “It was thoughtful of him.”

Mr. Gold grunted his assent, tightening his leather gloved hand over the golden handle of his walking stick. His wife smiled at him, and he fought to keep his features as stoic as possible around that tangible warmth. “Sidney Glass interrogated me over him. Nothing but trouble causing, if you ask me.”

“My, you are far more grumpy than I first thought,” Belle snickered, tightening her arm around his as they turned from the path of their house onto the sidewalk. They locked the gate behind them. After a moment, her smile slipped a little, and she tilted her head to the side to catch more of his face than just his profile. “Is your leg bothering you?”

It was true that in the months of sheeting rain and ice, the mottled joint of his right ankle bothered him. It throbbed and ached, making him prone to snap and growl like an old hound, and he shifted his arm so that he could wrap his fingers through his wife’s, holding her hand instead. “No, dear, it’s fine,” he said with a half smile, glancing down at her. She returned his smile gently, seeing his teasing, and nodded.

They continued their promenade in companionable quiet as they neared their neighbor’s house, but when Mr. Gold held the gate open for his wife, she smiled with mist dusting her cheeks and whispered, “I wonder how long he’s been a doctor.”

“Judging by his car, quite a while,” Mr. Gold whispered back, winking and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together like a miser, making his wife giggle. The house seemed colorless with its grey-washed stone and darkened windows, made of shadow and the watery light that the sun was sparing them, and something within Mr. Gold’s chest tightened. Then it lowered to his gut, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

Belle felt the slack pull in his arm as she began up the steps to the front door, glancing back at him with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked, an amused smile playing along her berry painted lips.

Rather not, he wanted to say, but strangely, he could produce no words. Whatever had finally taken space in that which had always been empty was intimidating. This was no ordinary town simpleton he could wheedle and dime, and that made him uneasy.

But his young, pretty wife was starting to look at him with concern, and so he forced his legs to move, to grip her hand for the slight anchoring to manage the stairs, and he watched her with trepidation as she pressed her finger to the doorbell and they waited. Standing closer on the clean and polished porch, Mr. Gold realized that the windows were not darkened, but that the drapes were pulled. A thin sliver of golden light leaked from between the nearest window, but just as he began to study it, the front door swept open to reveal their host.

Dark eyes glanced between husband and wife, set into a finely angular face. “Good evening,” Dr. Lecter greeted them, a gentle baritone voice loosening the tightness in Mr. Gold’s chest. When his eyes settled on Mrs. Gold, the doctor smiled somewhat, more with eyes than lips, and he inclined his head, asking, “Mr. and Mrs. Gold?”

Belle laughed, a breathless, gracious sound, and she nodded a little too enthusiastically. Mr. Gold felt the muscles in his neck relax knowing he wasn’t the only one nervous, and he rested his hand low on his wife’s back. “Yes, we’re your neighbors.”

The doctor stepped back with the door and a gentle sweep of his arm. “Please, come in.”

In the shadowy foyer, the light caught and swept at the planes of the doctor’s face, one moment shadowing his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks, and the next reflecting a maroon tint from his dark gaze. His accent was present when he spoke, but nearly indistinguishable when he spoke. European, certainly. “May I take your coats?”

Belle turned her back to the doctor with a smile, twisting her own lips in a quirky grin and raising her eyebrows at her husband who struggled to keep a straight face at his wife’s buoyancy. “Thank you,” Belle said as the doctor slipped her coat down her arms. The light caught the dark beads in the navy lace of her dress whenever she moved to turn back. “It was so nice of you to invite us. You must be terribly busy moving in.”

“It is a challenge not without reward,” Dr. Lecter said pleasantly, hanging up her coat on the rack near the door. Mr. Gold’s eyes flickered to the polished hardwood floors, and something seemed to be missing. Something incredibly important, but before he could put his finger on it, the doctor was approaching him with a gracious hand, and he handed over his own coat and scarf with a smile.

“This is finely made,” Dr. Lecter said, admiring the beautiful blue scarf as he took care to hang it up too.

“Belle made it or me,” Mr. Gold said with a quiet pride, feeling warmth flood his collar when his wife glanced at him sweetly. He avoided her gaze, his fingertips tingling as he squeezed his cane, a dizzying sizzle creeping up his spine whenever she looked at him like that. When the doctor glanced at him, Mr. Gold looked down at his hands, clearing his throat. “I don’t go anywhere without it.”

“A gift as precious as much as it is thoughtful,” the doctor said.

“I could make you one, too, if you wanted,” Belle said amiably, shifting the gift bag from one hand to the other with a smile. “Coastal Maine requires its own winter uniform.”

“That is very generous of you,” Dr. Lecter said, his voice reserved and quiet, as if he feared speaking too loud would spook the married couple.

“Your home is so gracious,” Belle said, folding her hands primly in front of her with another smile. “The work you’ve done is lovely.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gold. I was told of water damage in the basement, but I wasn’t aware of the other disrepair until I came to see the house myself,” the doctor said, his broad back to them as he hung up Mr. Gold’s coat next. Turning to face them, his deep, quiet voice warmed her throat when his eyes settled on the stray curl clinging to her neck. “But I do enjoy a challenge. It leaves room for interpretation, I think.”

Mr. Gold leaned both hands on his cane, his dark eyes leveled at the doctor with a bare smile on his lips, his brogue gentle. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Dr. Lecter spared an appreciative sideways glance at him before looking back at his wife, holding out his arm. “Please, this way.”

Belle took the offered arm and followed the doctor down the hall, glancing at her husband over her shoulder who stuck his tongue out at her impishly. Hurrying beside the doctor, Belle’s eyes swept the freshly painted walls, admiring the artwork and the thick rug that took them to the room near the back of the house. It was large, far larger than any room in their own home, and Belle’s eyes widened as she came to a sudden stop in the doorway, breathless at the sight of it.

“Oh, my.”

It was a study that seemed to double as a library. A large mahogany desk sat at the center before two towering windows that were hidden by the back of the house, overlooking the frothy green woods behind the neighborhood. The walls were painted a deep poppy red, offsetting the patent leather armchairs and the satiny powder blue sofa lining the wall. Works of art-not just paintings but vases, sculptures, and display cases with treasures were arranged within the room. A slim ladder sat snugly against the wall on the far left hand side that led to a gallery above that was lined with floor to ceiling bookcases.

“I hope you don’t mind taking our refreshments in my office,” Dr. Lecter murmured quietly, tilting his head as he watched Belle step warily into the room, as if she were afraid to even breathe in the sacred space. “I am having some renovations done on the parlor still, and they won’t be ready for a few more days.”

The doctor paused, glancing between husband and wife with uncertainty, and Mr. Gold smirked, his free hand going to his wife’s lower back as he ushered her in. “Belle is a lover of books,” he explained.

“You have a library,” Belle whimpered, a confused and elated smile curving her mouth when she finally looked at the doctor. “How…?”

“Many of the volumes upstairs were collected from my time abroad. My boyhood in Europe. Most were gifts, of course, and others collected during my residency at John Hopkins,” he said casually, opening a small wooden liquor cabinet against the far wall. While he did that, Mr. Gold took the gift bag from his wife and placed it on the doctor’s desk, winking at her and relishing in the delicious flush of heat that warmed her face.

“It’s beautiful,” Belle sighed with a smile, tearing her face away from her husband to admire the rest of the office, leaving the pawnbroker blushing in her wake. There was new hardwood floors throughout the house as well as fresh paint on the walls, though the only fragrance in the air was something sauteed with garlic floating from in the kitchen.

Mr. Gold leaned one hand on his cane, crossing his feet as he surveyed the study, his eyes skimming above with wonder and approval. “Some interesting artifacts you have,” he murmured with a pleasurable smile. “Are you a collector?”

“An admirer,” Dr. Lecter said, withdrawing a bottle opener from a drawer.

Belle near the center of the room where an antique globe set in a solid oak stand stood proudly.

“An admirer of what, exactly?” Belle asked, coming to stand near the center of the room where an antique globe set in a solid oak stand stood proudly. She twirled it with a childish delight and smiled up at the doctor, her eyes glancing around the office yet again. “It seems to me you have bits of the entire world here.”

“I do,” Dr. Lecter smiled over his shoulder, pausing his work to turn to them. He lowered his voice, whispering, “I consider myself an admirer of beauty, Mrs. Gold. And beauty is everywhere.”

“You and my husband will have much to talk about then,” Belle said, smiling as her dark red nails tapped along the weathered map of the globe, glancing at Mr. Gold across the room with a simper. “He’s an antiques dealer.”

“Really?” Dr. Lecter straightened as Mr. Gold ambled closer, nodding sagely, his silver lined hair catching under the warm glow of the light. “I would appreciate your opinion on several of my things, Mr. Gold.”

“From the looks of your home, Dr. Lecter, I’m sure you’ll know more than me,” Mr. Gold replied humbly, his voice calm but warm with interest. Belle caught his eye, her dimpled smile infectious. She knew when he was interested that mischief was sure to follow. “Most items I deal in tend to be more of generational and sentimental value, rather than monetarial worth.”

“I would not dare to discount one over the other,” Dr. Lecter said, sharing a brief look of meaning with the man. Looking back down at Belle, he cleared his throat, asking, “May I offer you a drink? I have a distinguished dubonnet.”

“That would be nice,” Belle said, stepping around the globe to stand beside her husband. They shared a look with raised eyebrows at the high taste. It wasn’t something they were used to.

“I am an amateaur sommelier, myself, and prefer red wine, but if you tell me your preferences, I will do my best to fill them.”

“I think we’ll leave the discretion up to you, Doctor,” Mr. Gold said absently, leaning down to inspect an enamel stag statue, rubbing beneath his chin where his five o’clock shadow had begun to show.

“I love your adventurous spirits,” he said, his hands busy pouring for a few quiet moments before returning with a silver tray. It had three sleek crystal wine glasses with the darkest red wine either Gold had ever seen. With a finesse and grace of a waiter, Dr. Lecter presented the drink to Belle first with a polite nod. “I enjoy cooking and hosting for people. It brings comfort to me, having no family of my own, and it becomes a game when I can guess a person’s taste.” 

Belle took the beautiful crystal, giving the rim a sniff. It was strong, and spicy too, and raised one eyebrow at the doctor who passed her husband his glass and took up his own. “I don’t drink much alcohol.”

Dr. Lecter tilted his head curiously. “Try it.”

Mr. Gold leaned on his cane, his blue ringed finger tapping on his own glass. His dark eyes glittered admiringly at his wife, nodding his own encouragement.

With a hesitant tip of her hand, Belle sipped the drink. It was, at first, a quiet burst of sweet and spiced flavor, crisp on her tongue, something tart like cherry with a sparkling undercurrent of mint and a heady, strong base of something nutty. Taking an appreciative swallow, Belle smiled and took a more confident drink, and Mr. Gold and Dr. Lecter both chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“It’s delicious,” Belle praised, her fingers touching her lips politely.

“Lovely,” Dr. Lecter answered, raising his glass in a toast, holding Belle’s gaze with his own, his mouth curving in a smile at the corner. “Sweet, but stronger than it appears.”

“Here, here,” Mr. Gold murmured, kissing his wife on her temple before taking a drink.

“Dr. Lecter, you... you have a beautiful library,” Belle said, gazing up longingly at the gallery above them and touching the side of her face out of pure emotion. She laughed, breathlessly, not out of mirth but simply out of feeling, facing him after doing her second full turn surveying his bookshelves. “It’s beautiful.”

Dr. Lecter swirled the wine in his glass thoughtfully. “You are welcome to my library whenever you wish.”

“A pretty sight, a lady with a book,” Mr. Gold quoted, winking at his wife when she shot him a grin.

“Well now I know your weakness. You know it’s not wise to give away the key to your heart,” Dr. Lecter said, his eyes gleaming. “It gives others the power over you.”

“We’ve had that discussion,” Mr. Gold sighed into his drink, his quiet chuckle hidden in the sip of his drink. Belle bit her lip, catching his eye over the antique globe as she turned it with a fingertip. Gold shifted his weight, leaning on his cane. “Belle’s resistant to the monsters.”

Belle blushed, ducking her head at her husband’s flattery, and, glancing between them, Dr. Lecter almost smiled. “Do you make friends with the monsters, Mrs. Gold?”

“I’m sort of an expert in rehabilitation, you could say,” Belle allowed, one red painted nail turning the globe slowly as she circled it. Amusement shone in her eyes as if she were sharing some private joke, and her gaze flickered up to the doctor. “I don’t make a habit of it. It just happens.”

“Those who think themselves unloveable become inseparable to those who would offer them compassion. It’s a costly commodity,” Dr. Lecter murmured, leaning back against his desk to survey the young woman who continued to spin the globe, the world at her fingertips. “And one easily misconstrued.”

Mr. Gold shifted into a less comfortable stance beside the doctor.

Narrowing her eyes, Belle tapped her fingers along the mahogany frame before sauntering up to stand in front of the doctor, cocking her head to the side. “Is that your professional opinion?” she challenged.

Dr. Lecter raised his eyebrows, procuring a remarkable poker face. “An observation.”

Ignoring her husband’s chuckle from behind her shoulder, Belle wrinkled her freckled nose, leaning forward with no little amount of pride. “‘May we not succumb to thoughts of violence and revenge today, but rather to thoughts of mercy and compassion,’” Turning on her heel, she caught her husband’s eyes, which had been on her lower back, and smirked at his blush. “‘We are to love our enemies that they might be returned to their right minds.’”

“I didn’t take you for a student of spiritual psychotherapy, Mrs. Gold,” the doctor remarked.

Holding her husband’s eyes until he cleared his throat and began to study his drink, Belle finally turned to look at their host, smiling graciously. “I’m not. I simply think that kindness is not weakness. Let’s call it another commodity,” she added, turning to perch herself on the edge of the desk beside the doctor, bumping elbows with the psychiatrist good naturedly. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to such a gesture, and Belle smiled wider. Her fingers smoothed out the dark blue hem of her lace dress, crossing her ankles modestly to swing back and forth. “In the light, the monsters aren’t so scary at all, really.”

Dr. Lecter’s eyes appraised her for just long enough that a blush found it’s way into her cheeks, and he bowed his head respectfully, “I always defer in the face of passion, Mrs. Gold.”

“Speaking of unwise things,” Mr. Gold mused, leaning on his cane and narrowing his eyes at their host.

Chuckling, the doctor rose, setting his wine aside and buttoning his suit jacket. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to check on dinner. Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Belle watched him leave, closing the office door quietly behind him before her eyes lit up and she grinned at her husband, whispering loudly, “Is he _real_?”

Mr. Gold laughed, coming to stand in front of his wife and setting his drink down next to hers on the desk. He stroked her cheek with a finger. “Well he’s not a character out of one of your books.”

She turned her head in time to kiss his finger, winking at his utterly taken expression. She enjoyed the small moments when she could still steal his words that he used against everyone, even if it was for just a moment, and Belle liked to think in those moments, with that wondrous look in his eyes, that he wondered if she was real, too. She shifted to sit more evenly on the desk when something caught her eye.

"Goodness, look at these drawings," Belle whispered, tilting her head down. They leaned over the desk, staring down at vivid rendition of a large gothic manor partially obscured by a file folder. Peeling away the vellum, Belle tilted her head to admire the close thin lines and perfect construction.

Her husband reached past her, plucking up a thin silver instrument that was hidden between pencils of graphite and charcoal next to the pages. He was delicate and careful of the sharp edge, raising his eyebrows at Belle from behind his hand. "A scalpel?"

Belle shrugged helplessly.

"Just remember to put back anything you touch exactly where you found it. He'll notice," Gold murmured, his eyes glancing vigilantly toward the door their host had left through. "This is a particular man, who moves with care. I doubt he'll want us back for seconds if he finds we've been snooping."

"Is this why you wear gloves when you break into the tenants' houses?" At his abashed face, Belle snorted quietly, slipping past him off the desk to sit in the leather desk chair, scooting in and making herself comfortable. "I may be innocent, but I'm not an idiot. Oh, what's this?"

It was a simple, small black box set between and beneath an array of books. It would only have appeared as a simple book end to the normal eye. It was inconsequential compared to the other treasures littered about the office, but Belle slid it out from its hiding place.

"I have a similar case at the shop, to keep business cards in," Mr. Gold murmured absently, absorbed in the drawing. He was just nearly touching it with his fingers, reverence in the movement. "This architecture is French."

"These aren't business cards. Look, it's labeled 'recipes,’" Belle whispered, her own fingers dancing atop the top. Mr. Gold glanced over, and she lifted the lid carefully with deft fingers. She bit her bottom lip in mischief, grinning, "Let’s see if our dinner is in here.”


End file.
